


Reorienting to the Daylight

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season 4, of fucking course they leave that plantation/prison, silverflint fix-it of sorts, the origins of peach verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: James and Thomas leave the plantation. James says good-bye to John the right way. Then James and Thomas attempt to start Living, stumbling upon an old peach grove in the process.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oookay, here we go. I really needed Flint and Silver to not have ended quite that bittersweet that really was just sad as shit the more I think about it, so I wrote them what I hope is a bit better good-bye, but actually I don't think it's going to be a permanent good-bye ;) Anyways this focuses mostly on James and Thomas and I really wanted to incorporate my peach-verse drabbles from tumblr into this. :) Offerings of feedback are much needed and appreciated!!!

_“This is not what I wanted. But I will stand here with you for an hour, a day, a year while you find a way to accept this outcome so that we might leave here together. For if not, then I must end this another way.”_

_His voice was certain and so was the grip on the pistol, but James could not look away from his face. John’s nostrils flared, eyes glassy. And suddenly he remembered Hal Gates. How he had quietly begged his old quartermaster to stop, the sickening feeling of inevitability creeping down his spine that he would be forced to kill the man. The sickening act itself. And then the immediate aftermath._

__This is not what I wanted. I’m sorry.

_James looked at John and saw it all. If he felt he had to, he would pull the trigger. And perhaps he should._

_James’s eyes blurred heavily. He looked skyward, the sky blotted out by thick green leaves everywhere. Strange leaves and a strange sky, on a strange island._

_He turned away and made it back to the boulder before his legs gave out from under him. In front of him John had not moved, though now the pistol in his grip must be straining his arm, making it quiver slightly._

_“I spoke with Max,” John said suddenly. “After we retrieved her from Billy.”_

_James watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed hard. John sucked in a breath and released it in a huff. He blinked and a tear streaked down his dirt-covered face._

_“I asked her,” he continued, “out of pure curiosity, what she had meant when she had told me before, about taking me away and not killing me the night I returned with Hands. And what she told me most certainly caught my interest.”_

_“What are you talking about?” James asked flatly. He felt tired, so very tired. John shifted, took a step forward, flexing his fingers over the pistol. James had automatically considered counter attacks should the moment arise. Now he did not care. Perhaps it was better this way._

_“Please, just listen,” said John softly. So softly. Why torture him like this? Why not just shoot him and be done with it? He knew why._ This is not what I wanted.

_”What Max told me,” John said, “was of a place in the territory of Northern Florida, near Savannah. A plantation owner resides there who owns no normal plantation. This owner, she said, found it profitable to offer a safe haven for wealthy members of London families who had been branded criminals.”_

_He paused. James looked at him, perplexed. What was this?_

_“What are you talking about?” he repeated, helpless to do or say anything else, but John’s face told him this was *something.*_

_The pistol was now shaking too much in his hand and John lowered it._

_“I had one of our men, Tom Morgan, go to this place to investigate,” said John. “After you had given yourself over to Eleanor in the fort, I bade him go and find out if there might, by some chance, be a particular prisoner at this plantation. He returned a week later and told me that yes, this prisoner was indeed there.”_

_The possibility formed in James’s mind slowly, painfully. He instantly recalled their conversation outside the gates of the fort. How John had brought up Thomas. He had thought it was merely to make a point about his feelings regarding Madi. But now, what_ the fuck _was John saying?_

_James rose off the boulder. John made no move to aim the pistol again. His chest was heaving._

_“The prisoner I sent him to inquire after was Thomas Hamilton,” said John. So softly._

_James clenched his teeth together. “What the fuck are you saying? You’re lying.”_

_John shook his head. “No. It is true.”_

_James felt like he was suffocating. He imagined throttling John to within an inch of his life even as he knew he could never do it. Desperately he thought, tried to understand._

_“You think that by dangling absurd hope over me that you’ll be rid of me,” he said._

_But John’s face told no lies, not today. He had not lied to James for a very long time. John closed his eyes._

_“I am trying to save your life. Please let me.”_

_He opened his eyes again. James stared at him, unwilling to believe and yet not quite able to disbelieve._

_“I was told, in no uncertain way, that Thomas is healthy and alive,” said John. “And I’m offering you the chance to see him, to be with him.”_

_James said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. When at last he looked back at John again the other man looked as tired as he did, putting all his weight on the crutch now, as though he could no longer fight off the force of gravity._

_“You tell me this,” said James, “even knowing I will not take you to the chest.”_

_No reply. The silence answered for him. There was no logic in John lying to him this way; the lie did not deliver the chest to him. Not a lie, then._

_“Please,” John said again. “Give me your answer. We can sail there right now, today.”_

* 

Israel Hands turned from the two figures in the field and to the figure of Ben Gunn who had quietly approached them. Ben gave him a small nod in confirmation. It was time for the second part of the deal.

Hands turned back to Mr. Oglethorpe, the owner of the plantation they found themselves on and the man who essentially owned Thomas Hamilton.

“My employer wants the both of them released from this place,” said Hands, voice like gravel.

Mr. Oglethorpe had rarely found himself afraid of other people before; even most of the criminals in his care were not what one would call fearsome men, yet this individual sparked that sentiment in him. Everything from Mr. Hand’s twisted face to the way he was now glaring at Oglethorpe put the plantation owner on edge. Funny, that. He had been anxious over the arrival of James Flint, yet when the feared pirate captain had arrived and they had met, Oglethorpe saw none of that fearsomeness on the other man’s face.

If anything the man looked nothing more but tired. Tired and worn.

Hands, however, was another story altogether.

“Mr. Hands,” said Oglethorpe, trying to sound as respectful as he could manage, “I was not made aware of further negotiations. The coin you’ve given me will suffice. Certainly your… _employer_ was made aware of my policy. Once men come past those gates, they do not leave.”

Hands seemed to actually snarl at him, like some kind of wild animal. This, Oglethorpe decided, would be the first and last time he dealt with pirates.

“It wasn’t a question open to negotiation,” said Hands. Oglethorpe watched the red-headed man’s right hand slip down to his belt, where some sort of axe lay in wait. “Personally I don’t care what happens to ‘em,” Hands continued, eyes never leaving Oglethorpe's face. “But my employer was very specific about it, understand? And I want nothing more than to make certain I am rid of that man there, once and for all.”

Hands gave a nod out to the field, but Oglethorpe didn’t dare take his eyes off him. He glanced up to where two of his guards stood nearby. They saw his look and immediately came forward. It was then that the third pirate, who had hung in the background this entire time, now stepped out from behind Hands. This fellow was decidedly kinder in appearance, but Oglethorpe was nearly at his wit’s end.

“Please, sir, we want no quarrel here with you,” said the blue-eyed pirate. “We’ve journeyed far, and this is of great import to our employer,” he continued. If the man was scheming Oglethorpe couldn’t detect it. With a frown Oglethorpe held his hands up to the guards, who halted, a few feet away. They kept their rifles ready.

The blue-eyed pirate held out another pouch to Oglethorpe. This one was larger than the first. Oglethorpe raised an eyebrow.

“You wish for me to release both of those men,” he said, more as a statement. He turned to where the two stood. They had turned towards him. Oglethorpe frowned and turned back to the pirates. Mr. Hands still looked ready to kill him at any moment, but his companion was calm, waiting, pouch in his outstretched hand.

“I am not a greedy man, Mr….?”

“Gunn. Ben Gunn.”

“Mr. Gunn. The work I do here has greater meaning to me than financial profit. You want me to release known criminals out into the world. The possibility would then exist that they might create havoc, harm others. This Flint especially. And then there is the matter of both his and Mr. Hamilton’s particular… _nature_. What life could they have, outside these walls? Here they are safe and protected. But out there….”

Oglethorpe trailed off, shaking his head. By now the two men in question had made their way back over to the trio.

“Mr. Oglethorpe,” said Thomas, “If I may have a word with you in private?”

Oglethorpe eyed his companion, Flint, and blinked in surprise. Both men appeared markedly changed, though he could not know how. Flint’s face had transformed from sullen and tired into something much more animated; he daresay the man looked more _alive_.And Mr. Hamilton, whom Oglethorpe had known for years, seemed similarly affected.

Oglethorpe nodded at Thomas and motioned for them to go towards the estate house. He watched as Thomas shared a look with Flint first. The entire thing was quite baffling to him.

*

He watched with a new fear as Thomas and Mr. Oglethorpe spoke under the shade of a giant oak tree. He could only pick up on the sound of their voices but no actual words found his ear.

His _voice_. Thomas’s voice.

He was still shaking, he realized. It was hard to swallow. He had managed to push down the tears temporarily but he was on unsteady ground even though there was solid dirt under his boots. A part of his mind whispered to him this wasn’t real, this was some vivid dream, but the rational part of him said otherwise.

What if they could not leave this place? It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Thomas looked and sounded healthy. He was not in chains and as James got a better look around the property for the first time he saw none of the other workers were either. They could move around freely, speak freely. The only thing that spoiled the image was the tall wall that wrapped itself all the way around and the guards posted at points here and there along it.

No, they were not free. Thomas had not been free in ten years.

He quickly looked back to Thomas and was relieved to see him still standing there. He had not vanished like some apparition, the way Miranda had in his dreams.

The thought of her caused his chest to tighten painfully. No. Not here and not now.

Thomas and Mr. Oglethorpe were returning. James braced himself as best he could. If Oglethorpe would not let them leave, then so be it. He was with Thomas. He was with _Thomas_. He kept repeating it to himself in an attempt to ground himself and focus on the moment, but as Thomas drew near he knew he was very subtly shaking again and Christ, he couldn’t help it.

Mr. Oglethorpe looked at them one at a time before returning his attention to Ben Gunn.

“I am still not certain that releasing these men is the best course of action. However, I have grown rather fond of Mr. Hamilton. He has convinced me that if I do this I will not regret it, that I will never see nor hear from any of you again, yet seeing as how he does not know any of you I was doubtful.”

Now Oglethorpe turned directly to him. James swallowed, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“Mr. Flint, if I may. Thomas assures me of your good character, despite what you clearly are.”

Disdain in his voice. He did not try to hide it. James said nothing. He couldn’t tell if Oglethorpe was referring to his piracy or to his liking of other men. _A_ man.

“So I want your word, Mr. Flint, that neither you nor any of your…compatriots will seek this place out for any reason in the future, whether it be to free the men here or to burn it to the ground. Give me your word and I will believe it.”

James nodded. “I have no desire to interfere with any of your operations here.”

He hoped his voice sounded steady.

Ben Gunn nodded in agreement. “Mr. Silver has no desire for this place, either,” he said. “Nor will he speak of it to anyone else.”

And again, Ben offered Oglethorpe the pouch, which was now a peace offering as much as it was regular payment.

Oglethorpe took the pouch and nodded. James felt weak all over. He steeled himself as best he could but it was made hard when he felt, very faintly, Thomas’s fingers close around his sleeve.

The four of them walked the long path to the gates. The two guards trailed behind them all the way, until they walked through the gates and outside the plantation. James had no idea what to expect. Silver had planned all of this, had known about all of this. His mind still reeled from it. A carriage awaited them outside the gates. Hands and Gunn hopped on top and took the reins.

“He’s waiting for us, close to the docks,” said Gunn to James. James didn’t need to ask who was waiting.

He nodded and climbed into the carriage. Thomas climbed in after him and they were off with a jostle of the two horses. James looked across the small space at Thomas. Thomas, whose eyes were still the color of sapphires, whose yellow hair had grown paler in the sun, his skin rougher. His beard was yellow peppered with hints of gray.

James was shaking again.

Thomas was watching him back, teary-eyed and beaming, reflecting back to him his own sense of disbelief. They had not made it much farther when Thomas left his seat and was looming over top of James, all lips and face and hands. A whimper escaped James’s lips, soft and broken. Thomas tasted of the outdoors, of dirt and sweat but still something sweet. James’s fingers touched the prickle of his beard, gripped the tops of his shoulders as Thomas’s long fingers once again cupped the sides of his neck, his thumbs brushing up behind his ears. Their foreheads touched and James closed his eyes, huffing out breaths into Thomas’s mouth. His heart was racing. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

“It’s all right, shhh,” Thomas whispered, running a hand down the back of his head. He also took several breaths and they ended up laughing at it all. And it was a strange sensation, to laugh again. James had shared some mirthful moments with Silver, but to truly laugh out loud was a miracle.

Like so many other things this day.

Silver. John. He looked out the small window. Ahead in the distance he could make out the tops of the ships lined up at the dock. He thought of John and his heart sped up again.


	2. Chapter 2

They pulled over still a ways from the docks proper. The ground was marshy here and squished under James’s boots as he alighted from the carriage. John stood waiting. To draw as little attention to himself as possible he had changed his outfit to something more common and less pirate-like, his rings and necklaces gone, though he still had a sword on his belt.

James and Thomas approached him. John’s eyes found Thomas and a small smile crept on his face.

“Mr. Silver?” asked Thomas, hand outstretched.

“Yes,” said John. He shook Thomas’s hand but then Thomas pulled him into an embrace. The motion startled John, who stiffened in it, eyes flashing up to James.

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas, pulling away. “But I am eternally grateful for what you’ve done for me, for us. I do not know why you’ve done this, but I’m so glad you have. How can I repay you?”

James’s heart felt like it was being gently squeezed. Whatever had changed, some things had not; this was the same gentle and optimistic man he’d fallen in love with.

“No need,” John answered Thomas. “There is no debt.”

And John’s eyes caught James’s this time and held them. Thomas looked between them, seeing that there was much he did not understand. Yet he nodded and offered John a small smile.

“Would you please give us a moment?” James said to Thomas. Thomas nodded. As he walked past James to the carriage he raised a palm and caressed James’s cheek. Despite the other pairs of eyes around James could not help but to lean into the touch, bringing his hand up to cover Thomas’s briefly.

James led them a few yards further away from the carriage, gazing out towards the hustle and bustle of the dockyard, its sounds and smells faintly coming to him over the flat distance between. Gulls cried out overhead. A steady breeze blew but otherwise all was calm.

James drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. He was in danger of shaking again.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said at last. He felt John’s eyes turn to him but he kept staring straight ahead.

“You don’t have to say anything. You are my friend. I did it out of friendship.”

James wanted to laugh. Friendship. Friends laughed at your jokes, drank rum with you, maybe saved your life in battle. They did not look at you the way John looked at him, did not speak in soft undertones the way John did with him.

“We understand one another completely at last,” John said into the silence. “And I never rejected you for it, I want you to know. Even on the island, when I accused you of being selfish, of only wanting events to happen your way…Jesus, I railed at you with the point of a sword, I never meant…I did not think…”

“I am selfish,” James cut him off as he stumbled. “I’m the most selfish person I know.”

He turned to John fully now, knowing what he wanted to say.

“And so were you, until you met Madi,” James said. “Then you fell in love and came to understand that feeling. We will always be selfish when it comes to the ones we love. Sometimes it blinds us, until we can no longer recognize ourselves. Then we become something else.”

He turned to John, whose blue eyes bore through his green ones. James laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope you and Madi can have a life together. I hope you are happy. Hold on to that. Do not let the darkness take over.”

James felt the need to say much more, to deliver another monologue to John about the danger within himself, the danger he’d spoken of back on Skeleton Island, about the need to slip back into his role, to seek out the things that would only destroy him in the end. He could somehow sense it around John, like a bad odor. Yet there was nothing more he could say that he had not already said.

“You are wrong about one thing,” John said. “I was selfish. I selfish,” he added with a quirk of his lips, “but it was not Madi who changed me first. It was you. It was always you.”

Those invisible fingers clasped around James’s heart again and applied their pressure. His hand was still on John’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. John turned from his hand to his face, lips slightly parted, his eyes as gentle as James had ever seen them. He could not bear them. It was time to go.

He turned to walk away but a hand quickly clamped over his own as James tried to pull away. And then John was turning towards him, closing in, straightening himself to his full height and pulling James’s face towards his own, hand hooked behind his neck.

The kiss was not soft and not hard. James immediately clung to it, the sudden taste of John overwhelming his senses. They had shared every other form of intimacy so why not this?

Then John was pulling away and so was he. James licked his lips. His hand had found its way into the thick mass of John’s pulled-back hair. He clung to it a moment longer as John simply gazed at him, eyes roaming all over James as though to memorize him.

“Thank you,” James whispered, his hand slipping from John’s hair. “Thank you for this.”

John gave a small nod, eyes glassy and cheeks red. James left, boots squishing over the marshy ground again as he went back to the carriage. Hands and Gunn had dismounted the carriage and were unhitching the horses from it. There were two sacs full of supplies in the carriage. Now they were attached to the saddle bags of the horses.

Thomas was looking at James with concern, brows pulled back. He placed his hands on both of James’s shoulders and James fought the need to simply slouch into them.

“Are you all right?” Thomas asked in earnest. James took a breath and nodded. He straightened himself. Thomas looked over his shoulder at John, then back to James.

“He means a great deal to you,” he said, surprise coloring his tone. Reluctantly James nodded again. Thomas smiled, the dimples forming in the corner of his mouth. James stared at them and could not help but to smile back. God, how he’d missed those dimples.

“Horses are ready,” came Israel Hand’s gravel voice from behind. “You’ve got enough food for about a week. Some clothes. And weapons.”

James looked over the horses and the sacs of supplies and nodded. Hands made a gruff sound and turned on his heel without another word. Ben Gunn offered more.

“Good luck to you,” he said, gentle eyes looking from James to Thomas.

“Thank you,” said Thomas. Then Ben turned and they both re-joined Silver. The three of them continued down the side of the road towards the docks and their ship. Thomas chose one of the horses to ride and mounted it but James remained where he stood. He watched the three figures grow smaller and focused on the one with the loping gait. At last the figure stopped and turned back. He lifted a hand. James could not bring himself to return the gesture but knew John could see him, watching. He swallowed, fighting back the tears. He turned away at last and back to the other figure who was not leaving him, who was waiting for him and for whatever life lay ahead of them. He mounted the second horse and they started off, not knowing their destination but content in the fact that they would arrive there together.

***

Thomas had not been beyond the property of the plantation yet he did have a basic knowledge of the area. Not far to the north were supposed to be the outskirts of a young settlement, still mostly wilderness. He’d overheard some of the other prisoners talk of it. So they set out north.

As they began their journey, with only the sounds of the horse’s hooves and the creatures in the woods around them, it hit James like a stone in the pit of his stomach, turning him cold. How was he to tell Thomas about _her?_

Of all the discussions he wished to avoid about the last decade this was top on that list. Yet it was also the most urgent one. The fact that Thomas had thus far failed to ask also bothered him in the worst way. He took several breaths and swallows, then halted his horse. 

“I need to tell you about Miranda,” he said once Thomas halted next to him. 

The other man’s countenance answered James’s question for him. He already knew. 

“She’s gone, isn’t she,” said Thomas in a dead voice that belayed the emotion behind his eyes. 

James slowly nodded. All the words he’d planned on saying were stuck in his throat. Thomas looked down at the ground. 

“I knew somehow,” he said in a quiet voice. “I was never told but, somehow I just knew. When she was not with you. When you never mentioned her when we were out in that field. I just…” 

He cut off, looking skyward now and James could just make out the moisture hanging in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” he finally managed to croak out, trying desperately to hold himself together. 

“I’m certain it wasn’t your fault,” Thomas replied in a wavering voice. 

_It wasn’t your fault. It. Wasn’t. Your fault._

John’s words came back to him, his broken voice, his sorrowful face. Beautiful curls hanging limply around his cheeks. James closed his eyes and willed it away. He steeled himself. When he looked at Thomas again Thomas was wiping at his cheeks, offering him a rueful smile. 

“How did she die?” 

Again, the words stuck in his throat. 

“No,” Thomas said abruptly. He was studying James’s face. “Nevermind. You do not have to tell me now. I’m not sure I’m ready.” 

And so they continued on, each sunk deep in his own thoughts for several minutes. Then gradually Thomas seemed to brighten. James wanted to embrace him again, to feel him under his hands. It seemed too long since he had done so and he was plagued by the irrational notion that if he went too long without touching him Thomas would dissolve into thin air. 

At first there was a flurry of talking. James wanted to know if Thomas had known he was coming. Side by side on the road, James watched him smile. So wonderfully strange, he thought, that such a small expression could lift his spirits. 

“Mr. Wolden informed me that my old liaison was to be arriving within a few days’ time," Thomas was saying. "You can imagine my disbelief. I had scarcely processed the information—that you were alive, that he’d received word from a pirate claiming to know you—when he then told me that you had become a pirate as well. James Flint. I actually laughed a little.” 

James had no idea what to make of the silence that followed. Thomas was looking at him but not laughing now. His face was apprehensive, hopeful, anxious. 

An unwanted pang struck his heart, like a stab wound made by So Many Things at once. He looked away. 

“So it’s true,” Thomas said, tone neutral. “You are Captain Flint, the one whose name even other pirates fear. Is there any truth to the stories as well?” 

James dared a glance at him, unable to read his voice. He licked his lips and tried not to bring his fingers together to fidget with his ring. 

“It’s not important, not anymore,” he replied. 

The corners of Thomas’s eyes crinkled as they narrowed but he smiled gently and nodded. Heat burned through James’s face. He knew Thomas, knew that Thomas knew it was a diversion but grateful the other man accepted it for the time being. 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas continued, “I should not have asked so hastily. I cannot imagine what you’ve been through…” 

“It’s all right,” James said. And he meant it. The moment had passed and Thomas’s voice was sincere. It relaxed him, just hearing his voice again. And yet James was desperately curious to know of Thomas’s past. He rolled it around his tongue for a few moments before asking. 

“And you? Can you at least tell me that you’re all right? That nothing too…terrible has befallen you?” 

He winced at the word ‘terrible’ but he knew not how else to put it. He needed to know, needed the reassurance, that Thomas had not suffered the way he had. 

Thomas’s smile was melancholy. 

“I am physically and mentally in good health, and emotionally I’m…I’m overwhelmed,” he added. 

_But that’s not what I asked_ James thought but let it go. 

There would be so much for them to work through. The realization fell on him like a heavy and damp blanket, dampening his spirits. He worried now about what Thomas had experienced. All the thoughts about Thomas in Bethlam that had haunted him for so many years spun around anew in his head. Perhaps it was just the insane asylum and its tortures, but what if Thomas were lying about the plantation as well? Perhaps it had not been as serene as it appeared. What if he’d been mistreated there? 

James tightened his grip on the reins, stilling himself. Now was not the time. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I wouldn't care about such a minor character's name change, but I went back and changed Mr. Wolden's name to Oglethorpe, since he was an actual historical figure in Georgia and also I kept using his name anyway (it's Oglethorpe on imdb :)

The minutes turned into hours. He began to feel tired. The feeling intensified with unusual force and at some point James found his eyes wanting to close. Sleep was a fantastic idea, yet it was only late afternoon and they had yet to see any sign of civilization, only the wide fields and woods through which they traveled, stretched out behind and ahead of them for miles.

He shifted around on the saddle and took small sips of water from a canteen also left for them, trying to shake off his sleepiness. But the steady gait of his horse was too similar to the steady rocking of a ship, and that had become his lullaby for the last ten years.

Thomas spoke up here and there, wondering about their location and that they would probably end up spending the night in the woods. James agreed.

“Perhaps we should stop and rest,” Thomas said, looking at him.

Damn, did he look that tired?

“I’m fine, it’s just been a long day,” he said, smiling at Thomas. It was a natural smile, a genuine smile, despite his fatigue. It was remarkably easy to smile at Thomas, even after all this time apart from him and the half feeling like he was riding beside a stranger.

They continued on but James’s fatigue did not fade. His mind felt dull. In truth he felt somewhat light-headed, which he marked down as a symptom of the long day and not enough to eat. Another hour, however, and he was fighting the urge to stop riding and start walking just to stay awake. The sun had just dropped to the treetops. They still had at least another hour of daylight left and he knew they needed to cover as much ground as they could.

He kept looking around them, hoping that something might catch his eye to snap him out of it. But aside from the birds and a few errant squirrels all was calm.

It happened all at once. He felt himself at an odd angle, tilting, moving. James’s eyes snapped open as the motion became quick and violent. He hit the ground hard on his arm and shoulder, feet slipping out of the stirrups altogether and the horse whinnying.

He moaned and winced.

“Fuck,” he muttered, struggling to flip over on his back.

“James!”

Ahh, yes, that was his name, wasn’t it? Not Flint, not to Thomas.

“I’m all right,” he tried to shout it but it came out as a mumble as he lay on his back, his light-headedness intensifying.

He heard the other horse’s hooves stop, Thomas dismounting and hurrying over to him.

“Jesus, are you all right?” he asked despite James’s answer a moment ago. Thomas helped him sit up. James suddenly wanted nothing more than to lie back down again, his arms and legs like flimsy rope. He was worse off than he’d thought.

“I’m fine,” he said again, stubbornly. “I’m just tired.”

“You’re more than just tired,” said Thomas.

Grunting, James attempted to stand but Thomas held him firmly.

“Stop. Take it easy, please James!”

There was a low-level panic coating his tone. James paused, sitting on the ground.

“When was the last time you slept?” Thomas prodded.

James struggled to think. He’d gotten in a few hours here and there over the last…what?...five days? Six days?

“I’m not certain,” he said.

Regardless he struggled to his feet amidst Thomas’s soft curses. Thomas insisted they were done for the day. James resisted even as Thomas partially guided, partially pulled him to the base of a large maple tree and bade him sit down.

James did so, his body screaming its thanks even as his mind resisted it. They were losing time, losing the last of the day.

But what was so important that he should go? Where did he need to be?

He lifted his head. Thomas’s face was inches away, brows drawn back in concern. His palm was against James’s cheek. The shock of the contact jolted him as hard as it had the first time that morning.

“You’re real,” he said out loud. He felt the tears coming again. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

The emotion was the same but dulled now under his exhaustion.

“I am real,” said Thomas earnestly. “I am real and you are real, and we are together, but you’re exhausted and you need to rest. I’ll get a fire going.”

James forced his eyes wide and looked at the area around them. It looked sound enough but he wanted to get up and survey it.

“We need to be hidden from view as best we can,” he managed. “Especially at night.”

“We are well enough off the path,” replied Thomas smoothly. He rose and began moving about. James followed him with his eyes as he rounded up the horses and saw to it they were tethered to tree branches, then went about gathering wood for a fire. What on earth he would use to start it with, James did not know.

He meant to ask, but his eyes were growing too heavy again.

*

He awoke with a start, taking in his surroundings. He was groggy. When had he fallen asleep? It hadn’t been for very long because the sky was not yet dark but a dull grey, the sun’s light almost gone. Directly across from him was a small campfire, but no one was attending it.

James sat up and look around.

“Thomas?” he called out. He climbed to his feet and turned a full circle to scan the trees and the clearing around him.

“Thomas?”

Nothing but a crow cawing and the far-off sound of barking squirrels. The panic crept up in him. What if Oglethorpe had changed his mind and had sent his guards after them? After Thomas?

The thought had hovered in the edges of his mind all day.

“Thomas?” he said again, this time in a sharp whisper, afraid of alerting others who might be nearby. If anyone had laid hands on Thomas without his consent…

James felt darkness creep up along with his panic. And then, “I’m here.”

James startled and whirled around. Thomas emerged from some thick underbrush.

“Nature called,” he said simply.

James let out a shaky breath. He felt weak in his legs. Thomas’s expression tightened.

“What is it?”

James swallowed, fidgeting with the gold ring on his small finger.

“Nothing. I just thought--when I didn’t see you I thought Oglethorpe had sent his men after us.”

Thomas’s eyes looked down at his fingers and the ring. James instantly dropped them to his side. Then Thomas was there all at once, hands gripping his arms and looking at him with worry lines etched into his forehead. God, would he ever get used to those blue eyes again and how they penetrated him, saw right through him?

“I’m sorry,” said James, looking down at the ground and feeling a bit foolish. He wasn’t certain why; it was second nature to him to always have his guard up. But Thomas’s concern wasn’t for possible danger, it was only for him.

“Do not be sorry,” said Thomas firmly. His hand cradled James’s face until James looked up at him again. The contact still sent a subtle jolt through his system.

“Nothing and no one will ever come between us again,” said Thomas. James recognized the resolution in his tone, the same he had spoken with during his salons, when the fate of Nassau was all-important.

And for whatever bizarre reason James saw John Silver in his mind’s eye, young and beardless and giving hims the same resolute look, eyes searching James’s face for an ounce of trust as James held a knife to his throat on the Spanish Man O’War. His blue eyes were as bright as Thomas’s. Even then James had found him beautiful, though he’d suppressed the realization for a long time.

He sighed and shook away the memory. He gave Thomas a lop-sided smile and covered the hand on his cheek with his own, hoping it was reassuring.

*

Thomas had obviously learned some practical labor skills during their time apart. The lord James had known would not have had the first clue about starting a fire (he’d found a piece of flint). He had also dug out some of the food from their rucksacks while James had dozed off under the tree.

James was hungry--ravenous was a better word. He ate more than he should have; they would need to ration their meals depending on how long it took to get to the outskirts of civilization they sought.

 _When have I not been on the outskirts of civilization?_ he thought, a bit bemused. Not for over a decade. He’d accepted long ago that the invisible border between the civilized and the wild was always going to be Home. And that was perfectly fine with him.

Thomas encouraged him to eat, especially when he admitted it had been several days since his last full meal. The events of Skeleton Island had left precious little time for anything other than vigilance and action.

They slept that night on the thick blankets Silver had provided, next to the fire. James woke up in the middle of the night to roll over, a dull ache in his back. He was used the floating sensation of a hammock or his bunk in the cabin. The ground was hard and unmoving and he was not as young as he used to be. He rolled over and found himself watching Thomas’s sleeping form. Memories that made him ache came back: Bodies pressed into one another’s as they closed their eyes and opened them the next morning, of arms and legs entangled, of bare flesh resting against bare flesh, of listening to Thomas’s heart beat in his chest, and of fingers tracing invisible lines over the thick mass of freckles on his arms.

He woke with those same memories fresh on his mind, then realized that Thomas was right beside him sleeping, one knee touching his leg.

He could not tell which one of them had moved closer in the night.

They chatted on and off again as they pressed on northward. James was aware of how each of them took care to navigate each new answered question or conversation, almost as though they were pretending their lives apart had been normal. He did not care for it; it left a bad taste in his mouth. They had always been open and honest with one another before, yet a part of him also understood the necessity for the need to hide. They wanted to bask in one another’s company for a time. That too was important. For now.

Naturally Thomas was curious about New Providence and Nassau. James described it to him as best he could, using the region they were currently in as a point of comparison when it came to the landscape and geography of the island. He also described to Thomas--in general terms--of how the strange politics of the place had worked and how quickly they could change. Then James asked him about Oglethorpe's plantation-prison.

Thomas told him that his treatment there had always been good, based on his behavior. Oglethorpe was a man of principle and one who, when it came to prisoner-supervisor relations, abided by the “do onto others” creed. Thomas had treated them with respect--and eventually kindness--and had received the same in return. Much better, Thomas said, than Bethlam. And then Thomas had clamed up. Inwardly James ached to hear about it. He knew in his gut Thomas had been ill treated there. He also knew why he desired to know. Deep down, beyond his immediate concern for Thomas’s well being lay a need for something darker, a reason to rage and seek out vengeance yet again. He firmly told himself no. Thomas was fine now, and they were together. And free. That was all that mattered. And yet the mere thought of Thomas in Bethlam even now set his teeth on edge.

They made good time that day, stopping once around midday for food and a rest, since the days here were much more humid than in the Bahamas. James noticed it was because there wasn’t a constant breeze coming in from the coast. They were too far inland now. He wondered idly if this were the farthest he’d been away from the sea in the last ten years. Surely it was.

And again John Silver filled his thoughts. _I’m not interested in the fighting, not interested in the ships. I don't care much for the sea while we're on the subject._

Surely after everything, Silver had developed some affinity for the sea? He almost snorted out loud at the thought. No, if Silver were here now and he were to ask, John would tell him he still fucking hated it, then give him that wry smile. God how he had changed.

 _How I changed him_ James thought instead. He thought of Silver on Skeleton Island, pointing the pistol at him. The look on his face, as though it was torture for him. The memory was too raw; it sliced across his chest. Again he shook it away, angry at himself. The love of his life was riding beside him on a horse and he was somewhere else. Thomas. Silver. Thomas. He realized he’d spent the last two days thinking about one man or the other and nothing else, let alone where the fuck they were going.

As afternoon turned into evening they came upon an odd clearing of land. The natural growth around them gave way to row after row of the same type of tree. All of them bore some kind of fruit.

“A grove of some sort,” remarked Thomas as they drew near. James saw no one around but still they thought it best to guide their horses in a wide arc around the grove. They did so and then James jumped off his horse and told Thomas to wait. There, through the trees and brush, James could just make out a structure like a small home. If that was the case they needn’t worry, but if it was part of a larger farm then James feared they still weren’t far north enough and away from the plantation.

He still had a bad feeling about Ogelthorpe, despite Thomas’s words. The truth of it was that he expected it all to come crashing down around him at any moment. Such was the nature of the life he had been living.

He armed himself with a pistol and sword and carefully made his way towards the structure. He felt more than heard Thomas behind him.

“I told you to wait,” he hissed at him.

“We do it together,” replied Thomas. “Together from now on, yes?”

James held his gaze. It was less of a question than a demand. James recognized the look well. He let slip a tiny grin.

“Together,” he agreed.

Looking quite pleased, Thomas returned the nod and they continued on, coming to crouch behind a clump of ferns with enormous leaves.

The building was old but in decent condition, though the roof sagged at its edges, giving it a forlorn appearance. It was very still all around. Several vines had made their way up the side of the house and threatened to make it to the roof.

“Surely it’s abandoned?” Thomas whispered.

James frowned. He nodded towards the single, busted window on the wall facing them.

“You go there and have a look. Very carefully,” he added. Thomas nodded, pulling out a pistol.

“I’m going around the front,” said James.

He slowly edged his way out of the fern, half expecting an ambush, although he had no logical reason to suspect it. Still, he kept his sword at the ready as he quietly made his way around the side of the house and turned another corner to the front. He paused there, peeking around the edge. Nothing. He relaxed somewhat as he continued towards the door. A few yards out, the grove of trees began. James could now see what the fruits on them were. Peaches. He scanned the grove but saw no one.

The door had been whitewashed at one time but now was fading and peeling. The brass doorknob was dirty and dull. He turned it with painstaking care, prepared for the inevitable creaking of the aged wood. It did creak. He stopped the motion and pressed himself against the side of the door, waiting for someone to approach.

Two minutes ticked by in his mind. He pushed the door open further. The wood creaked out its protest the entire time. Slowly James filled the doorframe, pistol aimed inside the space. He turned quickly to the left, then right.

The interior of the house matched the outside. The furniture was typical but worn. He saw thick dust floating in the dappled sunlight that came through the single window. Beyond that was Thomas’s face. James nodded at him, lowering his pistol and sword. A moment later Thomas joined him. He bent down and picked up a piece of paper beside his foot not far from the doorway. James had not seen it. Thomas read it out loud:

_To whom it may concern, know that I am newly widowed and an old woman. I am unable to attend to the peaches without the aid of my husband and his associates. Furthermore we have no children to speak of to carry on with his place. I am therefore taking my possessions and leaving the rest behind. Please make use of his house and its property however you may see fit._

Thomas turned the paper over.

“There’s no name or signature anywhere. No indication of where she might have gone” he said, slightly perplexed.

James grunted, looking at the note. It was stark and short and he could not help but to feel a sadness for the woman who wrote it.

“She has probably gone on to Savannah,” he said. Thomas agreed. It was the closest and largest town.

Just then a loud clanging sound caused both men to jump. James’s heart leapt in his throat. He had the pistol aimed in the corner of what was the kitchen. Out from behind a wide broom came some kind of furry monstrosity with a black band around its eyes and many bands on its tail. James gaped at it, lips twitching.

“What the hell is that?”

“It is a raccoon,” said Thomas.

Blinking, James looked at him. Thomas tried to stifle a smile.

“None of those in Nassau, I take it?”

James turned back to the creature, who was eyeing them both without an ounce of fear. James cocked his pistol.

“It looks like dinner.”

*


	4. Chapter 4

After dinner they gave the house a closer inspection. There were only two rooms, the main room which contained the hearth with two rocking chairs, the kitchen, and a small table with two chairs. The second room contained a single bed stripped bare. The widow had indeed taken whatever extra furnishings there might have been; Thomas noticed some bare spots surrounded by dust where other objects had been.He brought the horses around and tied them to the crude but sturdy woodenrail that wrapped around the small porch. They slept in the main room that night. James was still half convinced that Mr.Olgelthorpe’s men would come searching for them. Thomas did not disagree but seemed much more at ease, James thought, once they had settled in the house for the night.

It took James a while to fall asleep but once he did he slept soundly. He worried for a time over his circumstances but that was hardly something new. He tried to plan ahead and to consider all the possibilities of what lay ahead of them once they reached their destination but he found it was impossible to do. He simply did not know what to expect.

Growing frustrated with that line of thought he instead turned to thoughts of Thomas. The blonde was once again beside him, though at a comfortable distance away. James frowned. Their physical distance reflected another kind of distance that saddened James each time he thought about it. How, then, would they overcome it? Was he even ready to try yet? Was Thomas?

The questions swirled around in his mind until he grew too weary to think on them.

He woke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through the window. He’d slept later than usual. Beside him Thomas still slept. James rolled on his back. His body resisted the movement but not from soreness. He had actually slept the whole night and felt good. He stretched, feeling better than he had in at least a few weeks. After most of his grogginess dissipated he rolled over to look at Thomas. Thomas faced him on the right, one arm laid in front of his face and hiding his mouth. He had always favored his right. James smiled at him. His lips were also just barely parted, something else James recalled.

James took the opportunity to study him closer. Thomas’s hair was still a pleasant shade of yellow, though now for the first time James saw it was peppered on the sides with grey. And that beard, good lord. Yet James decided he rather liked it. It carried more grey than his head did and was shorter than his own but it added something James found appealing to his face. And the crinkles around Thomas’s eyes were more pronounced now. And suddenly James realized how much Time had taken from them that they could never get back. The ache returned to his chest, along with the urge to hold Thomas close to him, to touch and feel and assure himself that This Was Real.

Unable to help himself he stretched out his arm and very gingerly grazed Thomas’s shirt sleeve. He did not stir so James moved up to the back of his hand, fingers brushing over bare skin. Warm. Real.

Thomas inhaled sharply and his eyes fluttered open. He squinted against the sunlight, swallowed, licked his lips, and looked at James. James did not remove his hand. Thomas smiled softly at him and looked down at where fingertips touched him. He kissed the top of James’s hand, lips lingering there. James closed his eyes, grateful for the contact.

“You’re still here,” Thomas said.

Ah, so he was not alone in that particular fear. And suddenly James felt less lonely than he had in a long time.

“Good morning,” he said, thumb rubbing over the other man’s hand.

“Good morning. You look well. Did you sleep?”

“Yes, finally. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“It’s all right. I miss worrying over you. I rather enjoy it.”

“You always did. Fussing over me as if you were my mother,” James retorted.

“It keeps you in line,” Thomas shot back with a grin.

“Oh is that a fact?” asked James, raising an eyebrow and coming up on an elbow. He pinched Thomas’s hand.

“Ouch! Still a menace, I see!”

Biting his lower lip, James moved in and kissed him. Thomas breathed out the rest of his laugh into James’s mouth. Then the kiss became softer and slower. Thomas’s tongue pushed into James’s mouth and he moaned happily, taking Thomas in and opening his mouth wider. Fingers brushed across his beard and down his throat. Christ, how he had missed this. He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the feel and taste of Thomas as the moment lingered. He also began to feeling something else. A heat was rising in him that had been dormant for a long time, that not even Miranda had been able to draw from him in their final years together.

He opened his eyes. Thomas was kissing him with more urgency now. James moaned louder. He pulled back to kiss the wrist that rubbed against his cheek. Thomas pulled away, immediately lowering his hand and sitting up over his blanket. He smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

As if James had been protesting. James’s brow furrowed. No. Something had bothered him. When he had moved to kiss his wrist.

“Are you all right?” James asked.

Thomas rose and stretched.

“Quite all right,” he replied smoothly. “But we have a busy day ahead, do we not?”

James was watching him carefully as Thomas moved to open the front door. Thomas did not look at him as he crossed the room. James’s eyes drifted to the back of his hands.

“After all,” said Thomas, turning to face him. He was all smiles again. “We need to decide about this place.”

James reluctantly let go of what had just happened. Perhaps it was nothing. But something dark tugged at the edges of his consciousness all the same. He rose and rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well this house has no owner. It is sitting here, ready to rot away. Is it not possible that we could settle here? For a time, at least?”

James blinked. The thought had ever entered his mind.

“I think we ought to continue further north, don’t you?” he replied. He stepped up beside Thomas at the door and peered out. A sunny day, already warm.

“We are exposed here,” continued James. “And still within a few days’ of the plantation. It would be safer to keep going.”

“Exposed,” repeated Thomas as if he’d never heard of the word. “If you are referring to Mr. Oglethorpe, if he had really wanted either of us he would found had us by now. Two men on horseback at a canter speed would be no match for a search party.”

James’s mouth ticked down in a frown. He squinted out at the peach trees and rubbed a hand over his beard.

“Besides,” said Thomas, “Is this not your intent? To find a place away from everyone? No doubt all the ports have heard your name, even if they have not seen your face. And honestly I don’t think I’d blend in anymore than you would.”

“What about you?” James turned to him. “What do you want?”

“My needs have been reduced to two items these past few days,” said Thomas. “The first being to find a place away from everyone.”

“And the second?”

Thomas looked at him, sapphire eyes burning bright.

“Don’t be so naïve,” he said softly. The look he gave James spoke volumes—that he was the only thing in the world that mattered. It made James’s heart flutter and his head swim. But he was afraid—so afraid—that Thomas was seeing only James McGraw when he gazed at him now, not the man he had become.

James’s eyes dropped down. He took Thomas’s hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. He turned it over and Thomas jerked away again but not before James saw what was there. A longish, perfectly straight white scar running down the center of his wrist, over the bluish veins there. He inhaled sharply.

Thomas moved away from him abruptly, running a hand through his hair. It was one gesture that was not familiar.

“We ought to have a look at the grove, yes?” he said loudly over his shoulder as he made his way across the overgrown property.

James stood in the door way, trying to process the scar. His heart seized up. Fuck. He had obsessed over Thomas’s fate many times over the years, torturing himself with thoughts of actual torture and what such treatment could drive a person to do.

He had heard of how inmates were treated at insane asylums since he was young; it was common knowledge, at least in London. Not many people seemed to care, either, because once you were declared insane you were automatically an inferior being, not worthy of the same care as a sane person. The suicide rate was very high.

James closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Fuck.”

The thought of Thomas being reduced to such a state where death was preferable over life sickened him. What had they _done_ to him? The darkness inside screamed and clawed at him, seeking fresh air. He would kill them all if he ever learned the names of the ones who had harmed him. But now was not the time.

He looked up to the peach grove, where Thomas was looking over the individual trees, or pretending to. James walked into the grove, glancing absently at it. There were tall milkweeds and sapling trees growing amidst the peach trees. He figured it had been overgrown for roughly six or so months.

“It would take some work to clear this all out,” Thomas was saying. He kept walking forward, his back to James. “But if we wanted to keep the grove we might be able to sell the peaches.”

James said nothing but followed behind him, chest like lead. He swallowed, searching for the right words. Thomas reached up and pulled a low-hanging fruit off one of the trees. He turned it around in his hands.

“No insect damage. It looks ripe,” he added. James heard the forced enthusiasm in his tone. Thomas brushed the fruit off on his sleeve and took a bite.

“Hmm. A bit overripe perhaps,” he said. “But then again it’s getting late in the season.”

“Come here.”

Thomas took a few steps towards him and stopped.

“How long do you think it would take to clear all this undergrowth out?” he continued. “At the plantation we could cut down a field’s worth of cane in less than a week’s time…”

“Thomas.”

Thomas stopped speaking. He stood looking up at the tree tops. Two robins chased each other in zig-zag motions, shrieking loudly before disappearing. Then everything stilled.

James stepped towards him.

“Let me see your wrist.”

“You already saw it.”

James stopped. Thomas refused to look at him. He appeared frozen to the spot, jaw muscles clenched tight as he looked at the ground. He let out a sigh.

“What is there to say?” he said quietly. “What’s done is done. It does not matter anymore.”

Thomas closed his eyes and squeezed them shut briefly, looking drained. James fought down the rising tide of emotion within him.

“It matters to me,” he said.

Thomas swallowed and walked over to where a wooden bench took up residence in the middle of the grove. James had not seen it. It was half-hidden by milkweeds. Thomas sat down on it, arms out on its top. James slowly followed him to it and sat down across from him. Thomas met his gaze and turned his arms over. James looked down at them. There was the white scar again on his right wrist and one to match it on his left, though it was fainter. He reached out and took both of Thomas’s arms in his hands. His eyes blurred as he fought off a dizzying mixture of sorrow, anger, and rage. He let out a shaky breath.

“Please do not worry over this,” Thomas said in a quiet and fragile voice. “It was years ago, in Bethlam. I…decided you had died.”

He gave a bitter laugh, turning on his side and raising one foot up on the bench.

“I had been there for a little over a year and had managed somehow to survive. It was cold and damp and filled with unkindness but in all honesty I had not let any of it touch me, not really.”

Thomas flicked him a glance. James took a deep breath and gave him his undivided attention.

“That was, as I said, during the first year. But after that, when I still had not received any word about Miranda or you, I began to despair. I had secretly been holding onto the hope that surely, eventually, I would receive a letter. Even if the news was bad it was better than nothing at all. When the letter never came, I suppose I just became too weary of hoping. I was like a candle whose flame, once it started to dim, could not be beckoned to flare back to life on its own.”

James’s guts were in knots. He fought off the tremor in his hand and tried to quiet the scream of ‘Why had this happened’ in his head.

“I knew from Peter that the two of you had been forced out of England,” Thomas continued. “And that it would be difficult for any correspondence between us to take place. I told myself that. But by that time my other fears took hold. I knew you would have fought against whatever my father would try to force on you. I thought that you might have died in the struggle, that Miranda might have died with you, or was forced from you and into another marriage even. I feared everything, until I began to fear every passing day.

Once the door to all that had been opened I found it impossible to close. I became…something else. Someone else.”

Thomas swallowed hard and stared at a peach tree across the way. James could practically feel his sorrow, hanging over him like a black cloud. He knew it only too well. Again, he fought the need to touch him, to make certain the starkness of the sorrow would not cause Thomas to vanish into thin air and for James to suddenly wake up.

“I was not alone there,” said Thomas. “I had several cell mates during my stay, depending on how much space was available. After that first year they put another gentleman with me. He had been a man of some title. I scarcely paid attention or cared by that point. One night one of the guards had gotten drunk and had broken a bottle of sherry outside my cell. A shard had slid underneath the door and towards my side of the room. I took it as a sign.”

James was leaning against the bench towards him so that it creaked. “Thomas…” he squeaked out.

Thomas did not look at him but kept on.

“I was so diminished by then, you have to understand. I was looking for anything as an excuse. So I took the shard of glass and later that night I used it. I had thought my cell mate asleep in his bunk. He was not. And I was unable to cut the second wrist very deep on account of blood loss. My mate alerted the guards. I was honestly surprised they choose to save me. Something about rules and policies, nothing about actual care. A few months after that Peter returned to inform me I was to be moved to the Carolina colonies. To a better place.”

Thomas let out another heavy sigh and blinked. He turned towards James at last, eyes red-rimmed.

“So you see I have turned into the greatest of fools. Even though I had not a single piece of evidence to believe that you were dead I wanted to take an easy way out. I was weak. I couldn’t bear the thought of your death. So I did something inexcusably horrible instead.”

His voice cracked. Thomas shoved off the bench and ran both hands through his hair again. James swiftly came to him and embraced him, arms folding over his back and crushing him into his own. Thomas pushed back against him.

“Don’t you see James? I once wrote to you to know no shame. But I can’t even follow my own advice! It was all folly.”

His face flushed red and angry tears burning his eyes, Thomas turned from him.

“No!” James insisted with vehemence. “That’s not true. Don’t you dare say that. Those words have meant more to me than you could possibly imagine in the last ten years. Because you wrote them! Because I believe in them and so do you. Because Miranda believed in them, died still believing in them!” 

Thomas’s eyes shot up to him. James had not meant to say it. But he had. Chest heaving, he swallowed and continued.

“We were in Charlestown, trying to negotiate with Peter. He had told us a long time ago you were dead. It was Miranda who noticed your grandfather clock in his dining room. A gift. From Earl Alfred Hamilton. Peter had struck a deal with him to put you in that asylum. Miranda pieced it together. And she _screamed_ at him, Thomas. She raged and she screamed and I, standing there, realized she had been denied an outlet for that rage all those years. She _deserved_ that moment to scream at him. So I let her. And she was shot for it.”

He felt like he was suffocating. Fucking hell. He had not meant it to come out this way, in one long ramble. Shit. And yet he’d desperately needed to say those things because they were all true and he had never had the chance to talk to John about it and _fucking hell_.

Thomas stared at him, half in shock. Then he blinked, tears falling to the ground.

“James, I’m…I’m so sorry,” he choked out.

And then they were embracing. This time it was Thomas wrapping his arms around him and pressing his cradling James’s neck and eventually holding him upright. James let him, so very grateful to be able to lean under the weight of the world and not fall over.

He became aware of Thomas whispering soft things in his ear, reassuring him that from now on everything was going to be all right, that they were together and would stay that way.

“Shit,” said James, pulling out of Thomas’s now-wet shirt, “I’m sorry. I’ve made this about me. That was not my intent.”

Thomas actually laughed through his tears. “This is about _us_ , you buffoon.”

James instantly felt relief course through him. They could make it through this. They _would_ make it through this.

Perhaps Thomas could even make it through Captain Flint.

“Do not be ashamed of this,” James said, taking up one of Thomas’s wrists. “Not around me. Just promise me you’ll never do it again.”

He cupped Thomas’s cheeks in his hands and searched the eyes staring back at him.

“I promise,” Thomas said in earnest. “Now that I have no reason to.”

They stood there in the grove for several more minutes, calming down and wiping their tears away. James was tired. Thomas guided him back over to the bench and bade him to sit. James did so, facing outward. Thomas sat beside him and kissed him soft and slow. It was like a warm balm covering James and reassuring both of them.

They simply sat there for long minutes, letting their traumas fade into the background. James looked at the grove around them and then back to the house. Would it be all right to stay here? He was beginning to perceive his fears of being pursued as false. He ought to trust Thomas’s word. After all he’d been there nine years and knew its operations and the man who oversaw them. And from what he had gathered from both Silver and Thomas, Mr. Oglethorpe was not interested in proactively finding more inmates for his plantation. He simply offered his services and accepted who was brought to him.

Those thoughts calmed him further, until he rolled his shoulders and was truly able to relax. The sun had risen above tree tops. It must close to ten or so in the morning. Thomas placed a hand on his thigh. They shared in more chaste kisses, which eventually turned deeper and more passionate as they had earlier that morning. Thomas’s fingers moved to unfasten his fly. James’s breath caught in this throat.

“What are you doing?”

Thomas hesitated, biting his lower lip. He caught James’s gaze as his hand slipped inside James’s pants. Then he lowered himself to his knees and pulled out James’s cock, still soft, and gently wrapped his mouth around the tip. James whimpered at the sensation. Thomas easily took him down, sucking and licking along his shaft until James was hard and thick and Thomas had to work to take him down. The sight of it made James moan louder. He leaned back on the bench, fingertips digging into the wood on either side of him. Thomas had dropped to his knees in the grass, spreading them and working himself from inside his pants.

It didn’t take long before James felt himself leaking. Thomas kissed him there and gently sucked just his tip. James let out a high-pitched moan and hooked his hand behind Thomas’s neck. He began to wonder what this was for, because he had not expected it at all.

Suddenly uncomfortable he pulled away from Thomas’s mouth, palms pushing back against his shoulders.

Thomas stopped, looking up at him with lidded eyes and brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“You do not have to do this,” said James, palms still planted against him. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated…”

He trailed off, face growing hot under Thomas’s scrutiny. Thomas raised himself off the ground and kissed him deeply, tongue sliding between his lips. When he pulled away he looked at James with nothing but warm compassion.

“I am not obligated,” Thomas said. “I _want_ you. I want you so very badly, you fool.”

James blinked. He searched Thomas’s face for a second answer, unable to speak. Thomas looked as if he were going to cry.

“Oh James, my sweet boy.”

And Thomas went down between his legs again and took him down. James could hardly believe it was happening. He very gently bucked his hips, pushing his cock into Thomas’s mouth. Thomas hummed in the back of his throat, eyes closed, as he pulled faster on himself. James was nearly wrecked. He threw his head back and closed his eyes as Thomas’s mouth made him slick and pushed him closer to the edge of orgasm. Then he pulled his mouth away and worked his hand over James’s cock, hard and fast, rolling James’s skin over his cockhead and making him grunt in-between pants. He had forgotten just how good this felt, to have another man give him pleasure and take as much in return. He opened his eyes. Thomas looked up at him. His own eyes were deeply hooded, cheeks flushed. James watched Thomas’s hand pull along his own shaft. Then he stopped and focused solely on James. He licked the underside of his cock and then let his mouth slide down the length again, taking as much of James as he could. He started bobbing his head. James’s breath grew shorter and shorter.

“Oh I’m so close,” he breathed out.

He came hard. Thomas opened his mouth and took it down, then let the rest coat his cheeks and lips and chin. James finished himself, pulling on his cock until he was done. He grabbed a hold of Thomas’s shirt and heaved him up between his legs, kissing him fiercely and cleaning his face in the process. Then he stood and pushed Thomas away from the bench. He slowly lowered himself in front of the blonde and pulled down his trousers as he went. He gazed up at Thomas, eyes still blown back.

“My lord,” he said reverently. Still watching Thomas’s face he placed both of the other man’s hands over his shoulders.

“Oh James,” Thomas mumbled. James wrapped his hand around Thomas’s cock and started to jerk him, kissing the tip and letting his tongue flick over it here and there. Thomas moaned and muttered half-coherent terms of endearment. It only made James work harder at him, until Thomas was panting as uncontrollably as he had been moments ago. His fingers dug painfully into James’s shoulders as James forced his orgasm from him, taking him down over and over again. Thomas cried out as he came. James licked him clean. He rose to meet Thomas’s lips. Thomas was trembling. James held him through it, planting chaste kisses over his neck and jawline.

They spent the rest of the day cleaning up the household and discussing all their options, but by and by Thomas was winning him over to the idea of staying where they were. He did promise, however, that if James ever thought there was danger that they would leave and that Thomas would follow his lead.

They would need to make a run to town, James knew. Though food would not be a problem they would need more clothes, footwear, and other supplies for the house. Thomas found some gardening equipment—including large clippers and a scythe that could be used to clear out the grove—in the kitchen. James found precious little in the way of cooking equipment though; one large kettle that the widow probably could not take with her, two wooden spoons and one half-rusted knife.

They spent the next few days doing as much work around the grove and house as they could with what they had. James found the work rewarding. It felt good doing honest work again and at his own pace, without concerning himself about what other people thought about it. He only cared what Thomas thought and that was how it would be from now on.

The two of them made slow progress in the way of sharing personal demons and slightly better progress in becoming reacquainted with one another.

The evening of their seventh day there they had gone out riding to familiarize themselves with the area. They had split up briefly. James had ridden towards the west. He doubled back and had to ride far south to find Thomas off his horse and staring out over a long stretch of meadow. He had one hand planted on a tree trunk. Even from behind James thought he looked lost in thought. James dismounted and approached by clearing his throat, not wanting to disturb him. Thomas glanced over his shoulder and James was startled to see moisture in his eyes, though his smile came easy.

“What’s wrong?” James asked in earnest.

“Exactly the opposite,” Thomas replied. James stood next to him, watching him.

Thomas let out a sigh and wiped at his eyes.

“I’m free,” he said after a long moment. “I’m free to go where I want, when I want. And with whom I want. I had forgotten what that felt like until a few moments ago as I was riding. It hit me all at once. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a mess.”

James’s heart ached. Ten years. Thomas had been imprisoned for ten fucking years.

James stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Thomas’s waist. Thomas interlocked their fingers together.

“It’s all right,” said James beside his ear. “You are freer now than you’ve ever been. And I will help you remember it every day.”

Thomas shuddered in his arms, fingers squeezing tightly over his own in reply. James held him and they were quiet for a time. Then Thomas turned his head to address him.

“You know, you’re so damned short I can’t lay my head on you,” quipped the blonde.

James laughed out loud. Their height difference had always been a humorous point between them. Miranda had adored making fun of them for it in her teasing way. The sudden familiarity felt good.

That night they made ready for bed, discussing the best way to use what little money Oglethorpe had given Thomas once they were in town. James had been pulling out the last of their food supplies from his rucksack when he noticed a second pouch in the sac. It was little more than a slit on the inside but there was something in it. He reached inside and pulled out a familiar-looking satin pouch, dark purple in color. His breath caught in his throat. It was one of many that were still inside a chest that was still on an island haunted by ghosts, both old and new, in the West Indies. He opened it. There were pearls and gems, enough to purchase all the supplies he knew they needed. He jammed his hand back into the slit and pulled out the second item. This time he sucked in a shaky breath, handing rubbing over the cover reverently.

“James? What is it?”

James said nothing. Thomas came up behind him.

“What—”

He stopped. James looked up at him and saw the shock there as Thomas eyed the second object in his hands.

“It was in a hidden pouch in my sac,” James finally managed. “Along with this.”

He opened the money pouch and showed it to Thomas, whose mouth was slightly agape. Then a half smile formed on his lips.

“How—?”

“Silver,” said James.

Thomas took the book from him. There was a black ribbon in it. He opened it to the marked page, tears forming in his eyes.

“You still had it. All this time,” he said to James.

James nodded. Silver had stashed _Meditations_ down in the rucksack.


	5. Chapter 5

He was unable to get to sleep that night. Adjusting to a bed again was harder than he had anticipated. He and Thomas had decided to sleep in the bed together, but sleep was mostly it. They had not progressed past their experience in the peach grove earlier that week.

When he’d come home to Miranda he was usually exhausted and had little problem passing out in their bedroom in Nassau. Now that he was rested however, he found it difficult. He kept turning gingerly, trying not to disturb Thomas next to him, until Thomas spoke up, back turned to him.

“I can heat up some chamomile tea for you,” he said, perfectly awake. He rolled over and gave James a grin.

James sighed and frowned. “I’m sorry. And no, thank you. I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

Yet after another stretch of time James was nowhere near to falling asleep and neither was Thomas who suggested a back rub. James scoffed a little. Thomas had given him back rubs before but for some reason the idea sounded silly now. Nonetheless Thomas goaded him into it and James found himself on his belly, arms crossed under his chin. His eyes widened when Thomas took the unexpected liberty of straddling his behind.

James raised an eyebrow, holding back a grin.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you,” he said.

“Thank you, I shall,” replied Thomas. James pictured the smile on his lips.

As it turned out the back rub was just what he needed. His muscles were taut and he hadn’t even realized some of them were sore until Thomas’s hands and knuckles began working out the kinks. Thomas worked his back from top to bottom, kneading him like dough and then massaging with his fingers. The latter made James feel like rubber all over and he couldn’t help but let small moans escape him from time to time.

When he was finished Thomas disembarked from James’s backside but James halted him from hiding back under the covers. They were kissing again. This time Thomas tugged on James’s shirt, his expression a giant question. James raised his arms and slipped off his nightshirt. He immediately felt too exposed, almost shy. Thomas’s eyes travelled over him as though he were the eighth wonder of the world. His brows furrowed as he traced the large scar across his breast, then the small, rounder one on the front of his shoulder. James knew he must be burning with questions yet he asked none.

“These have grown darker,” he said instead, running his fingers over the clusters of freckles from the tops of James’s shoulders and down the length of his arm. The sensation was almost ticklish and gave him pleasant chills. James twisted around when Thomas wanted to see his back. Though nothing much had changed there Thomas ran his hands down it anyway. He hummed in his throat.

“God I’ve missed you,” he breathed out. When James turned back to face him his eyes were moist again.

“Stop that, or I’ll have to leave and fetch you some water,” James said softly, trying to hide his own feelings for fear of ruining this moment.

Thomas took his shirt off and allowed James the same liberties.

“You’ve turned into a roughhewn farmer in my absence,” he quipped, feigning disdain. But his hands, he knew, said otherwise as they roamed all the contours of Thomas’s body. When James reached the lower part of his ribs Thomas flinched away and chuckled.

“Careful there,” he said.

“Still sensitive there, I see,” said James with pleasure, grazing his fingers over the area again and making Thomas flinch harder away, smile on his face.

“I’ll not let you touch me at all,” he threatened.

But James found he could not stop touching once he had started. It wasn’t long before he was hard again and wanting. Yet as the heat between them grew so did the dark animal that still lurked with him, the one he’d never expected to feel again since Miranda’s death. He had thought that part of his humanity dead and gone. Yet the animal howled and tore at his chest and mind, telling him he was not worthy to touch or be touched by this man, not after the sins he had committed. 

Wait, stop,” he finally commanded loudly. He pushed Thomas back, breaking their kissing.

“What? What’s wrong?”

James looked at him and swallowed hard.

“Thomas, you should know, before we go any further, with each other, with all of this…” he looked around the room to indicate the house and their journey thus far. “You should know I’ve committed all the atrocities you’ve heard about pirates. And more.”

Thomas sat back on his haunches but made no move to disengage himself from their intimacy.

“You’ve had to kill before, to lie and steal, I know,” he said evenly. “I know and I forgive you. You did what you had to in order to survive.”

James was shaking his head, trying to keep the tremor from crawling into his voice, along with the vile thing that stirred in him.

“You don’t know,” he countered. “There’s more. I’ve done things that weren’t necessary, things I cannot forgive myself for. I’ve killed friends.”

He could not bring himself to say Mr. Gates’s name. He looked down at the crumpled bed sheets between them.

“ _A_ friend in particular,” he continued. “Over money. And other, even more innocent people. Women. In cold blood.”

He had killed them and had been numb over Miranda’s death. Even afterwards, when Silver had brought him back to life, he had not felt what he was feeling now, laid bare before the one person left to him in this world.

“I murdered them,” he said. He was sobbing. “It was after Miranda’s death. I murdered them and I did not care. I wanted to tear down the whole world. I did not care. I should have.”

And Thomas was hugging him tightly. And damnit, he’d made Thomas cry too. But Thomas was not angry with him. He was _hugging_ him for Chrissake.

So James hugged him back.

He clung to Thomas like a life boat, mumbling out apology after apology, knowing he sounded half hysterical and not caring. Like after Gates.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is not what I wanted._

And when he had finally calmed down Thomas wiped at his tears and said simply, “I still love you.”

*

He had fallen asleep. It was still dark when he awoke but he could hear the strange bird calls again so dawn wasn’t far off. It was the same bird calls that he’d heard each morning for the past week. It was a sing-song type of bird, a New World sparrow perhaps. He liked it.

He lay on his back, arms tucked behind his head as he thought about the night. He could have wept all over again at Thomas’s unconditional love. Thomas had not expected him to forgive himself, but he had insisted that he allow the love between them to grow and flourish again. Such words, such ideas.

James was falling in love with him all over again.

It was about that time that Thomas stirred. They whispered good morning to each other and fell into silence again. It was still too dark to get up. James had thought him asleep again until Thomas’s hand snaked to the top of his light cotton breeches. He rubbed over James’s crotch slowly. James stiffened but only for a moment. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the contact. Thomas’s hand grew warm with its task. He pulled and squeezed until James felt himself responding. Then he pushed down on his pants until his cock was out. Thomas turned towards him fully and James happily welcomed his lips and tongue on his own. Thomas worked him into a state until James’s cock was throbbing for him and he was writhing over the mattress. But then Thomas slid his pants down further and pressed a finger between his cleft.

“Can I take you?” he whispered into James’s mouth.

James’s breath hitched. He spread his legs and pulled Thomas into a hard kiss for an answer. He could have sworn his cock grew harder just at the thought.

He was nervous. Like their first time together he’d been nervous. He had never been nervous with other men before Thomas.

Then again he had not loved any of those men, nor lost them for ten years.

Thomas bade him to sit up as he worked James open. James leaned back on his palms, legs spread, as Thomas pushed his fingers inside until James was a panting, sweating wreck. Thomas kissed him very slowly and sweetly, never in a rush. James silently screamed his thanks. When the last of his nerves had been overridden by his desire he bucked his hips and pulled on himself.

“Now,” he whispered.

Thomas groaned. James lay back on the bed, heart pounding in his pulse. He drank in the sight of Thomas fully nude. When his eyes landed on the beard he almost whimpered.

“Keep it. The beard,” he said in a thick voice.

Thomas grinned, biting his lower lip as he shifted himself over James.

“You like it, do you?”

“I told you I did.”

“Only if you keep yours.”

“I will.”

“But let your hair grow back out, please. I need to be able to grab it.”

“For Godsakes, Thomas!”

A breathy chuckle. James echoed it. He felt fucking blissful.

When Thomas pushed inside him they both moaned. James immediately writhed underneath him, hands gripping Thomas’s bear arms as Thomas bracketed him.

“Oh fuck.”

Thomas was inside him, filling him up and making him feel whole. The sensation made his stomach drop. Hot chills broke out over him for a second. Thomas’s breath was already ragged and he hadn’t even begun fucking him yet.

“James,” he breathed out. James felt his fingers on his lip. As dawn approached faster and faster through the window he saw Thomas in a dark gray-blue hue as he began moving inside him. James groaned again.

Thomas made love to him. Even when he was slamming his cock into James, his hands and lips were touching him with great care and tenderness. Then he would slow down to a tease, where James’s entire being was aching hotly for him, the familiar pressure coiling up low in his gut. And Thomas would suck at his neck and over his nipples, rolling his hips just so and hitting James’s prostrate, until they were both desperate for release.

They locked eyes as Thomas fucked him furiously, mouth agape. James felt his orgasm consume him like a fierce storm. He cried out with the force of it, fingers digging and clawing at Thomas’s back. Thomas groaned, fucking him through it. Then he pulled out and jerked himself until he came over James’s belly. James watched him with hooded eyes. Thomas was undone. He moaned all the way through it, face going slack.

When they were both done Thomas collapsed beside him. As soon as they looked at one another they let out giddy, half-panted laughter. Then James turned serious. He bent over and kissed Thomas’s forehead.

“I love you. Forgive me for not saying it sooner.”

Thomas smiled softly.

“I know what you feel even when you do not speak it, James McGraw. And now I know I always will.”

And as they lay there in comfortable silence James felt that perhaps, just perhaps, he had truly walked away from the sea.


	6. Chapter 6

Epilogue

*

James paused to get a rough estimate of their harvest. The day was hot and he’d been picking peaches all morning, but he was pleased with how much they had accomplished. Two barrelfuls of the fruit sat in the back of the small, one-horse cart. They’d had some trouble with insects and birds (not to mention some local deer who had made the acres of peach trees part of their territory), but he and Thomas had learned much in a year’s time.

They money they received from selling peaches would never amount to anything great, but combined with a little from the purple pouch here and there and James was beginning to feel like they were settling in just fine.

Too bad he wasn’t ten years younger though; his back was always aching at the end of the day from bending and stretching. Thomas had remarked on how the work had altered both their bodies as they bathed one day. James jested that if Thomas got any leaner he would resemble a bean pole. Thomas had patted James’s stomach in response.

“Perhaps, but I see it’s helping you lose your winter’s fat quite nicely,” he’d said. That had earned him a smack on the ass, which he happily claimed he deserved.

Now, as James plucked a few more peaches to fill up the second barrel a bit more, he heard the creaking and stomping of an approaching wagon and its horses. Thomas, who was sitting under the back porch and drafting a treatise, looked up.

“Ah, I hope it’s Mrs. Parcell with the news,” he said, putting down his quill and rising. “She’s overdue this month.”

“As long as it’s not that preacher,” grunted James, taking a long swig of water. “He reminds me too much of Pastor Lambrick from Nassau. Too pushy and self-righteous.”

Thomas chuckled. “I’m certain if you smacked my ass in front of him he’d leave us alone.”

James caught his eye and grinned devilishly. Thomas disappeared through the door. James sat down the water canteen and covered the peach barrels with tarp and secured them to the cart. Dimly he heard the horses’ hooves stop, followed by the too-loud creak of the front door. James frowned. It was the last piece of original furnishing that still needed to be replaced. They had given it a paint job but that didn’t hide the badly tortured wood underneath.

He made a mental note of it. Two sets of strange voices drifted to his ears. That was odd. The only time more than one person had visited them was when Mrs. Parcell had brought her husband along one time. Then he remembered how the preacher—Pastor Davis—had politely threatened to bring a member of his congregation to meet them who was interested in peach farms. James had politely but firmly declined the suggestion. He was enjoying his hard-won privacy too much. Now, he grumbled as he left the grove and made his way to the porch and the door. If it was the pastor he thought of how he might rid them of the annoying man once and for—

James made it as far as the kitchen before he stopped dead in his tracks. All talking died away. Thomas was looking at him with wide, pensive eyes. James swallowed. He remembered to breathe.

“It is good to see you again,” said Madi, taking a step into the house and nodding. James said nothing but managed a nod before his eyes fell to the figure beside her. John Silver looked to Thomas for approval and Thomas stepped back and gestured for him to enter as well. He hesitantly lifted his crutch first, then his foot. James watched the familiar lop-sided movement as though he were looking at a ghost. Silver nodded and offered a smile.

“Hello, captain. _James._ ”

James stepped towards him, every nerve in his body tingling.

“How did you find us?” he heard himself ask.

“Well I thought perhaps it would be impossible,” said Silver, “that the two of you would be long gone from Northern Florida, but Madi said we ought to try looking for you in the area anyway. She was right. We came across a Mr. Parcell in town. He told us you were here.”

Silence followed Silver’s statement. James was certain all eyes were on him but his eyes had only one focus in one point of space in that moment. His feet carried him forward. Silver seemed to take that as permission and did the same, until they were inches apart. Silver looked more nervous than James had ever seen him.

“I’m sorry this is such a shock,” he said. “I understand if you do not wish to see me—”

James’s continued silence was making it worse, until Silver dropped his gaze. And then suddenly James pulled him into an embrace, arms wrapping tightly around his back. Seconds later Silver returned the gesture. James heard a whimper deep in this throat, so low no one else could hear. He buried his face in John’s neck and the thick curls there, close to weeping.

John’s fingers clawed at his back, chest heaving against his own before moving up to fondly cradle his neck. James pulled away at last and they regarded each other anew, this time with smiles. When James remembered there were others present he self-consciously backed away and looked to Thomas. But there was no need to worry. Both Thomas and Madi stood side by side with the same smile on their lips. It was Thomas who broke the ice.

“Well then, it appears we have guests for lunch,” he spoke up. “Tell me, do the two of you care for peaches?”

 

***

“They pay no mind to the spectacle behind them. They pay no mind because to them, all things are great, all things are grand. What a life if we found the focal point everywhere, in everything, the miracle in the most mundane and the stunning in the simple.” 

“Thank You"  
[he] whispered soft  
like it may  
blow away  
with anything stronger  
than a breath,  
"for fixing me."  
"You,"  
I sputtered out  
like the first sound  
of morning,  
"were never  
broken.”  


― Tyler Knott Gregson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finis! Thanks to everyone who read this and made it such a success! I hope the ending is satisfying. I wanted the Silverflint bits in the beginning and the end to be able to be interpreted as either a romantic or a platonic love, because I myself can go with either but I know a lot of the fandom has one preference or the other. And yes, I was also trying for hints of a possible ot4 at the end, because everyone except Thomas needs to heal from that finale. Also, I really have no clue about peach terminology lol! I see a lot of people calling it a peach farm. I just stuck with grove. Do you "harvest" peaches? I don't know that either! But it was fun as hell to write. :)


End file.
